


this beauty breaking on my hands

by prettydizzeed



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Therapy, mentions of past panic attack, mentions of past suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12751158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydizzeed/pseuds/prettydizzeed
Summary: Clary has never been any good at putting things back together. When they were in middle school and she accidentally knocked over Simon’s Lego Millennium Falcon, he’d already known to say it was fine repeatedly and usher her out the door instead of accepting her offer to help him rebuild it; if he’d let her try, the wings would have ended up upside down and there suddenly wouldn't have been space for the engine. Her heart is in the right place, usually, but it doesn't often translate to her hands.So when he hears through the shadow world gossip mill that Alec's parabatai rune disappeared briefly, it doesn't take more than one look at Jace’s face to know that she’s been fucking around with the threads of fate again.And, well. She's never been that great at sewing, either.





	this beauty breaking on my hands

**Author's Note:**

> I love these dudes so much and I know Shadowhunters isn't going to do shit about their mental health, so this happened.
> 
> title is from "Show Me the Resurrection" by Madeline Gleason

Clary has never been any good at putting things back together. When they were in middle school and she accidentally knocked over Simon’s Lego Millennium Falcon, he’d already known to say it was fine repeatedly and usher her out the door instead of accepting her offer to help him rebuild it; if he’d let her try, the wings would have ended up upside down and there suddenly wouldn't have been space for the engine. Her heart is in the right place, usually, but it doesn't often translate to her hands.

So when he hears through the shadow world gossip mill that Alec's parabatai rune disappeared briefly, it doesn't take more than one look at Jace’s face to know that she’s been fucking around with the threads of fate again.

And, well. She's never been that great at sewing, either.

*

Simon doesn't manage to talk to Jace until almost a week after the Valentine-is-dead-and-we-aren't celebration. Everyone is in the cleanup phase by now, which involves a lot more politics and a lot less alcohol.

Less alcohol in group settings, anyway; he finds Jace alone at the Hunter’s Moon. Any scolding Simon has given himself—about how he’s probably just being paranoid and maybe Jace just had a migraine that day and runes do weird shit like falsely indicating someone's death all the time—is instantly rendered null and void by the fact that Jace isn't flirting with anyone. This isn't his usual “something's probably wrong beneath this bravado, but good luck proving it” type of deal; this is definitely deeper, and more serious.

So, of course, Simon addresses it with exactly zero tact.

“Welcome to the club of the unwillingly alive,” he says, sitting down next to Jace. (He tries not to think about how Jace might've belonged to that club for a while, in a very different way; “I would have let you” still echoes its way through his nightmares—daymares? His sleep schedule is so fucked from trying to pick which culture to belong to—but he already has more psychological shit on his hands than he's remotely qualified to deal with if what he thinks happened did happen.)

“Or, unwillingly undead, I guess, in my case?” he continues, and Jace gives him that look he always does, the one that's “what are you talking about” and “why are you talking to me” and “are you seriously expecting a response” all at once. It's strangely reassuring, all things considered.

Simon lowers his voice, although not much, because they're sitting in the corner—the better for Jace to project his leave-me-alone vibe—and there aren't many people in the bar right now, anyway. “Look, I know you died, dude. Didn't you?” Judging by the flash of panic visible in Jace’s eyes before he manages to suppress it, that's a yes. “And I'm guessing the part where you aren't dead anymore has something to do with Clary. So I'm just saying, we're in the same boat. We should start a support group or something; at this rate, there are bound to be more of us at some point.”

Jace stares at him. “Don't tell anyone,” he says finally.

“Hey, I'm good at keeping your secrets,” Simon replies, smiling slightly, because Jace isn't denying it and that puts them like three hours ahead of his imagined version of this conversation. “No one's been after your blood recently.”

“No more than usual.”

“That's the spirit.” Simon tries to elbow him and he shifts away, not something so ungraceful as to be called a flinch, but probably the closest thing Jace’s supersoldier body is capable of.

That Captain America comparison is looking more accurate by the day.

“Does that make me Bucky?” Simon wonders aloud, and brushes off the look Jace gives him. “Irrelevant. Anyway. Look, if you don't want to talk about this in public, is there somewhere we can go? Because we are gonna talk about this.”

Jace huffs, but sighs after a second. “I don't know, my entire life is in the Institute, remember?”

Simon isn't about to say _Well, there was that one awkward stint as your brother’s boyfriend's roommate_ because considering both the tense relationship between Shadowhunters and Downworlders and the no-longer-tense relationship between Alec and Magnus, there's no way Magnus is letting them use his guest room for—what? A bonding session? Amateur therapy? Simon admittedly hasn't entirely thought this through.

“Right. Probably cameras there, you guys definitely seem like the Big Brother type. Not ideal for the highly paranoid—which, trust me, I know a thing or two about.” The number of times he's been certain Raphael is outside the boathouse, only to realize it's _broad fucking daylight_ , is higher than he’s willing to admit.

Of course, when that happens he then immediately starts worrying that it’s Clary (because lately he has not been in the mood), or someone Clary has pissed off who wants to use him as bait, but whatever.

Instead of telling Jace all of this, because contrary to popular belief he does have some fraction of a filter, Simon shrugs and says, “You can come back to my place.”

Jace raises an eyebrow and Simon’s brain flashes through a list, trying to choose which god to compare him to. He's trying to decide if the obvious connection to the sun is enough to justify going with Apollo despite his general distaste towards the guy (because of the typical godly problems with consent), and his certainty that he'd rather be the Winter Soldier than Grantaire, when he thinks of Jace’s expression before Simon walked up, when he hadn't known anyone was watching, and yeah, he's damn attractive, but right now he's clearly feeling far from powerful.

He’ll stick with Captain America, then. It allows for a certain degree of nuance. And the quasi-resurrection theme isn't lost on him.

“Seriously,” he says, “c’mon, let's go talk.” He tries not to be surprised when Jace follows.

*

Simon is, apparently, not the best with nuance. Or, he can acknowledge it, at least, but he sucks at explaining it. He largely blames this on the fact that not a single How To Talk About Your Emotions guide in the entirety of the internet mentions the completely fucking conflicting feelings that result from your best friend deciding she’d rather doom you to an eventual eternity without her than live the rest of her normal-length life without you. Every hour is kind of a grab bag—how will he feel now? Flattered? Understanding? Guilty? Really fucking furious?

He isn't sure whether he's suddenly more sympathetic to the Shadowhunters’ “no emotions ever” policy after trying to dissect all the bizarre circumstances they've been dealing with, or if he's all the more irritated that they haven't given him the remotest hint at a starting point.

So far, his strategy is to complain and vaguely hope that Jace will open up about something.

“It's because I'm such a people pleaser,” he laments a few days after their first “talk,” which mostly involved Simon stumbling through words that were meant to be comforting and Jace raising his eyebrows. “Like, I think I'm physically incapable of telling Clary I'm mad at her. Which is honestly kind of shitty on my part, because I certainly had no problem talking about how upset I was when I thought it was all Raphael’s fault.”

Jace kind of grunts, which Simon considers progress.

  
It takes two weeks for Jace to actually say something that isn't a monosyllable. He's still been coming to Simon’s place every few days, though that might be because it's less populated than the bar. Simon gives up on stopping him from drinking after about three days; “You shouldn't drink alone,” he finally says, sighing, and then, “Not that I'll be drinking—I mean—I have some stuff, but I don't really do it in front of people in a one-on-one situation because then they don’t have anywhere else to look. I’ll maybe do it with Magnus sometimes, but otherwise it's gotta be, like, an emergency situation to bother with all that—” and he probably keeps stammering for a few more minutes, he isn't sure, because instead of hearing his own voice it’s just Jace-as-Clary’s voice saying _Come on, Simon. Simon, drink_ in a sickening repeat.

So technically Jace is drinking alone in the sense that he's the only one drinking, but he isn't drinking alone in the sense that he isn't by himself while he's doing the drinking, and he actually starts limiting himself to semi-reasonable portions of alcohol after the time when Simon uses his vamp speed to grab the full bottle and smash it on the ground outside. Again, progress.

When Jace does start talking, it's not about any of the insane shit. Or it doesn't seem to be, at first. Simon has been going on about all of the foods he misses, and Jace says, “Spaghetti makes me nauseous.”

“I can get that,” Simon says, trying not to reveal how he’s definitely wondering if this is some sort of breakthrough. “Spaghetti is objectively bizarre. Like, the noodles? Who thought that shape was appetizing? And then the sauce texture—”

“Valentine cooked it. Back when he was pretending to be my dad.”

“Oh. Shit.” When Jace doesn't say anything else, he continues. “You know, I know he isn't really your dad, and I know the Lightwoods are the ones who really raised you, thank G—thank goodness, but he was still an abusive parent. Like, if you were a mundane, you'd be in so much therapy for that shit, and that's even without taking the whole genocidal racist thing into consideration.”

“I'm not a mundane.”

Simon scoffs. “Trust me, I've noticed. I'm just saying… it's normal for that stuff to leave you kinda disoriented for a while, you know? And by normal I mean a typical reaction even for badass Shadowhunter superheroes who insist they don't need help.”

Jace huffs a little, so Simon does what he always does and keeps talking. “When I was like fourteen—freshman year, you know—or maybe you don't know? I'm not sure how much you're taught about the mundane educational system—anyway, freshman year, I started freaking out over like, the most random shit. I didn't know the answer to a homework problem and suddenly I couldn't breathe. Or sometimes, just the quantity of people around me was too much to deal with all of a sudden, and I'd end up going to the bathroom and just staring at the mirror for five minutes, trying to calm down.”

He stares at the ceiling. He's not completely sure that Jace is still listening. “Then one night, I was trying to go to sleep, and all of a sudden my arms started tingling, like, this weird pinprick thing. I thought I was having a heart attack or something. It was fucking terrifying. So I got my mom and we went to the doctor and he said I was hyperventilating, and he prescribed me some anxiety meds, and I started seeing a therapist… And like, with the vampire thing now, I can't really take medicine, and maybe I shouldn't need it? Do the undead stop needing dopamine and serotonin and shit by the same supernatural logic that makes me not need water? Because, like… It still feels like I need it, you know? I don't get thirsty, but I do get panic attacks. And it… it's hell, man. It sucks.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Just when Simon is about to start making Star Wars puns and acting like nothing happened, Jace clears his throat slightly.

“I don't think there are therapists for Shadowhunters.”

“Well, you could go to a mundane one, right? Like Izzy's doing with the AA meetings?”

Jace scoffs. “And tell them what?”

Simon shrugs. “I mean—the basics. Generalizations. You had an abusive father figure who then disappeared and let you think he died; you were adopted by well-meaning people who still pressured you to reach unachievable standards and urged you into a high-stress career; your abuser came back into your life; a biological family member found you and wanted you to immediately accept yet another new identity; you should probably leave out the part where you and Clary thought you were siblings, but you can just say there was relationship drama on top of all that—even without mentioning demons, that's still a lot of stuff that's really fucking traumatizing.”

Jace sighs, which isn't a no. “I'll give you my therapist’s information, okay? I can't go back to her because my mom probably called her when I started acting weird and I really don't want to explain why I disappeared for months, but she's really good. I should probably look into finding a new one, honestly.”

“Don't expect me to go,” Jace says, and Simon finally meets his eyes.

“Please try it, just once? I'm not saying it'll be perfect, because yeah, you’ll have to leave a lot of stuff out, but I think it could really help. And you have me to talk to about all the resurrection shit.”

“You say that like I actually talk to you,” Jace retorts, but his frown looks more like he's thinking and less like he's in severe distress, so Simon grins.

“Please try it,” he says softly. Jace looks away, but he writes down the address Simon gives him.

*

Simon doesn't see Jace for over a week, which he tells himself is normal and doesn't mean Jace is avoiding him and shouldn't make him feel so empty, because wow, hello unhealthy dependency. Maybe it's a good thing he isn't busy hanging out with Jace, he tells himself, because after that unwelcome realization, he finally makes himself find a therapist within walking distance and make an appointment.

He's on his way to the Hunter's Moon after an hour of making vague statements about his best friend thinking she can control his life and learning how to set healthy boundaries when Jace calls his name.

“Headed to get a drink?” Jace asks, and Simon nods.

“I survived my first appointment with the new therapist, I figure that's worth celebrating, right?”

“It's what I'm doing,” Jace agrees, and Simon very determinedly doesn't make a big deal out of it.

“I'm buying,” Jace says, and that's a lot harder to not make a big deal out of.

  
“How do you feel about being a kidney donor?” Simon asks after about an hour, and immediately mentally kicks himself because he doesn't actually want to have this conversation.

Jace gives him the patented 3-Types-of-Annoyed-Confusion-in-1 look.

“Not an actual kidney donor,” Simon elaborates. “I just, uh, I want to talk to my therapist about the thing where you saved my life. And at first I was like duh, blood transfusion, but I'm pretty sure you usually don't know the blood donor, like they have that stuff stocked already, and I couldn't think of a reason why that would almost lead to your death, so…”

“Yeah, that's fine,” Jace says, looking away. “I might have to use that, actually. Y’know, if I ever get around to discussing that particular shit.” He takes a sip of his drink and pauses. “Have you talked to Clary recently?”

“We talked on the phone a couple days ago. She's been busy with Shadowhunter stuff lately, even more than usual.”

“Yeah, there have been a lot of meetings, negotiations… People seem to think we should know what happened to the Mortal Instruments, no matter how many times we say they disappeared into a fucking lake.” He smiles wryly, looking down at his drink. “I'm a soldier, not a diplomat. Alec's stopped trying to keep me cooped up in there.”

Simon figures Alec also realizes that Jace needs some time, but he doesn't say anything.

“Anyway, I just…” Jace gives a short, bitter laugh. “I feel like it's kind of a cop-out, you know, she can have anything in the world and she chooses to save the guy she has feelings for, and I don't feel the same way. Kind of a waste of a wish. So I've been avoiding her lately. I wanted to make sure she's okay, though.”

“Yeah, she's—she's good. As good as can be expected, given that she killed her father and everything. Seriously, why don't you people have therapists by now?”

Jace smiles at him slightly over the top of his glass, the closest thing to his former smirk Simon has seen since Valentine's death and the adjacent events. “I may have put in a word with the head of the Institute about that. He's considering it.”

“That's amazing, wow. But—how did you recommend it already, if you just came from your first appointment?”

Jace looks like he's trying to slide back into his old air of nonchalance; it doesn't quite fit now, after everything. Simon doesn't mention it. “It wasn't my first appointment. I went twice last week.”

“Dude, that's great! I hope it's helping some.”

“Thanks.”

Simon nods. He knows Jace means it for more than the comment.

*

It takes a few weeks for Simon to work up to the whole “the guy I'm in love with almost used my health problem as a way to fulfill his desire for martyrdom slash suicide ideation” thing.

He sees an uncomfortable level of similarity between Jace and Clary as he talks about it, neither of them willing to let him die. He isn't sure how to feel about it.

His therapist points out that Jace wasn’t attempting to get Simon to fall in love with him when he saved Simon’s life, and Simon thinks about what Jace said about Clary at the bar and decides there are significant differences between the two of them, too.

Once they've established that the love was already a thing before the medical miracles got involved, that Jace isn't trying to manipulate him, and that they're both working through their issues, Simon feels a lot less worried. Sure, he still has an unrequited crush, but at least it isn't an _unhealthy_ unrequited crush. He feels almost like a functional adult for the first time since he was Turned.

Plus, he and Jace have been hanging out to talk about stuff other than their various traumas lately, which is bizarre and wonderful.

The trauma still manages to sneak its way in sometimes, though.

They're playing MarioKart (because it's not a first-person shooter) at Simon’s place (because it's not the Institute) the week of Simon getting professional approval to keep pining when Jace says, “I haven't felt guilty for being alive today.”

Simon pauses the game.

“I know I have to keep working on it for a lot longer,” Jace continues, “but it's been better, lately. And I figured you should know, since my therapist can't understand the full reason why I feel like I don't deserve this.”

“That's amazing,” Simon says quietly, earnestly. Jace grins.

“What about you? I mean, if you want to talk about it.”

Simon shrugs. “I never really felt guilty; I was mostly angry. I've worked through a lot of the stuff directed at Clary, but Camille… I don't know how to explain that in mundane terms. Like, she literally fucking hypnotized me into thinking I had feelings for her. I'm working on it, but how am I supposed to trust that my feelings for—other people—are real now, after that? My therapist would probably think she drugged my drink, which is close, I guess, in some ways, but. Like you said, they can't understand the full reason.”

Jace sets his controller down and leans back on his hands. “If it helps, the stuff with Camille was because of an _encanto_ , so if the person you have feelings for isn't a vampire, you know that can't be what's going on.”

Simon swallows, then runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Might as well see this through. “It's not that part. It was an _encanto_ first, but then… it was because of her blood.”

Jace shrugs. “But it's not like you've bitten a lot of people, right? So you shouldn't worry about a hypothetical of if you one day bite someone you have feelings for.”

“Yeah, it isn't many people,” Simon agrees, and it comes out sounding hoarse. “That mundane—the girl who died—and you.” He looks down. “And it isn't hypothetical.”

It’s several agonizing moments before Jace gets it. Simon can see the realization dawn; Jace’s brow unfurrows slightly, then furrows twice as deeply as before.

“I—tell me I'm not misinterpreting you.”

If they'd been having this conversation two months ago, Simon would've been shocked at the vulnerability, Jace’s hesitation beneath his smooth exterior, the uncertainty in his voice. But by now he's used to it enough, in intermittent but consistent moments of conversation, to be shocked not by Jace’s caution but by the words themselves, the underlying hint of hope.

“You aren't. At least, I hope you aren't, because that'd make this really awkward—or, more awkward than it might already be, although it's not as bad as I expected—look, I really like you, Jace. And I know that you've been through a lot of shit with people saying that and then wanting something from you and taking away your agency and shit, but even if you feel the same way, I'm not, like, expecting anything from you. You don't have to do anything. I just wanted you to know. Full disclosure and everything.”

Simon waits for what has to be at least two minutes. “Uh, okay, I take it back, I know I said you don't need to do anything but if you could, like, say _something_ , even if it's just that you don't want to mention this again… That'd be great. I mean, not the not mentioning it, although if that's what you want I totally won't have a problem with it, like, completely understandable—”

He breaks off as he realizes Jace is staring at him, amusement flickering across his expression. “Are you done?”

Simon swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. Because before you interrupted me, I was trying to decide whether I should just kiss you or if I should ask first.”

Simon’s exhale is half relieved and half thrilled. “Oh. Shit. Uh, I mean, consent is really important, especially when we have so much trauma and triggers and stuff and—”

“Simon.”

Simon closes his jaw so fast he can hear his teeth click.

“Yeah?” He might be shaking a little. Jace hasn't stopped looking at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and Jace leans forward and kisses him. It's agonizingly gentle, and neither of them make a move to change that.

“This doesn't feel real,” Jace says in a half-whisper, in awe, in a voice that reminds Simon how entirely separate he is from the cocky bravado he projects.

“It's real, I promise. Either that or we're having a collective hallucination, and I don't think drugs even work on me anymore, although there's the blood thing—” he stops suddenly, pressing his lips together. Jace frowns.

“Hey. Simon.” It's soft. This man who is more comfortable handling weapons than emotions is being so gentle with him.

“Simon, please look at me,” Jace says, but he makes no move to touch Simon’ face or tilt his chin or otherwise make him do so. Simon glances up.

“I don't know if, uh, if Clary told you, about what I said when you were with Camille—” Simon flinches, and Jace adds a quiet apology before continuing. “I told her how being bitten would make the person feel like they were in love, and that I'd never been bitten, and never been in love before.

“Well, now I've been bitten, but I've still never been in love.”

Simon exhales, more for the familiarity of it than from necessity. “This is the happiest I have ever been to know that someone doesn't love me back.”

Jace just stares at him, his mouth open slightly, and Simon remembers he'd only said vague shit like “having feelings for” him until now.

“Uh, sorry, I didn't—I swear I was really going to try to keep that to myself for a while, like, hopefully as long as possible, I wasn't—” but he doesn't get to find out where his brain could possibly be going with that because Jace is saying,

“For the love of the Angel, Simon, could you please just kiss me?”

and so right now it's unfathomable for him to do anything but lean forward and press their mouths together and feel Jace’s hands hesitant on his hips, like this means something.

*

When Simon was younger, it used to frustrate him that the Lego minifigures could never actually sit next to each other, that in a bizarre irony, their shoulders and arms were too wide for them to actually touch. He used to try every time to get them to hug without a stiff space in between, to hold each other.

The thought comes to him, nestled against Jace's chest with his arm around him, that they're fit together more like the actual Lego bricks than like the people. He never believed in that superglue bullshit, either, so there's the familiar fear of everything clattering to the ground.

Then again, they're already there.

They're starting to fall asleep on Simon’s floor after an embarrassing amount of making out because they can't be bothered to move. The MarioKart menu is still blinking at them from the TV. Simon leans his head on Jace’s shoulder and mumbles a joke he knows isn't funny about couples’ therapy, and falls asleep to the sound of Jace’s laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to hmu on tumblr @basilhallward or @downworldersdeservebetter


End file.
